


i'm coming for you and your simple existence

by Quintessentia



Series: Hitman!AU [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Prequel, jack is a recluse ok, mark has a lot of issues he doesn't deal with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessentia/pseuds/Quintessentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most soulmates don't meet in bed at gunpoint. (Prequel to my Soulmate/Hitman AU series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This part of the Soulmate/Hitman AU series is a prequel to everything I've written so far. It's part one of how Jack and Mark met, and I plan on uploading another part very soon in the future, but I wanted to split them up for easier reading because my versions of Jack and Mark are grossly emotionally screwed up and confused. :/ Let me know in the comments whether you want to see the continuation of the very first part of the series or something else set in this universe (you'll be getting the follow up to this part soon either way)!
> 
> Title from Simple Existence by State Champs. Feel free to listen while reading if you want.

Jack peeks out the window of his cabin in the woods with trembling fingers, and braces himself for the stuff of nightmares.

His home is secluded, nestled away along the back roads of the Ireland countryside where trees and wildlife flourish, but civilization is absent. He’s been here for almost five years now; no family, no friends, and no pets to speak of, and up until now he’d been sure that he was strong enough to stave off the madness that generally accompanies prolonged isolation.

Jack knows the forest and the roads surrounding his home, and he doesn’t get visitors that only walk on two legs, but this visitor definitely does. He’s sure of himself, because human footsteps are slower and heavier than animal steps, and the animals near him aren’t big enough to carry that much weight.

His tea is left steaming on the table, forgotten next to his scuffed up, vintage Nintendo DS he’s been taking apart for the past half an hour. The damp chill of the early Irish fall fogs up the window quicker than his breath, and he blinks at the darkening scene outside his house.

Nothing.

‘ _I’m not crazy,_ ’ he thinks, because Jack has always been this way—a stray individual perfectly content with solitude. The silence keeps him sane.

The window is so cold he can feel the chill creeping off the glass and into his fingertips without the two ever meeting, and he fights the urge to bite his already jagged nails down to nubs. He loves the way fall looks on the trees but hates what the dimming skies and dropping temperature do to his head.

It’s the strange noises that turn his mind to a useless mass of anxiety and jittering nerves, and Jack knows what he heard.

Like a hot coal, Jack drops the faded edge of his curtain and backs away from the windowsill. He can’t start the night like this—not when it was supposed to be a productive one. He’s been feeling good for the past couple of days and he’s gotten more work done for his clients recently than he can remember in the past year.

He scrambles back into his chair and picks up the pliers with slightly numb fingers, intent on making some headway on fixing up his old electronics while he’s got some free time from web design. He bites his lip in frustration, but the wood of the chair is cold and he can’t get comfortable, squirming around in sweatpants and a hoodie and unable to keep the bone deep chill out of his limbs.

Every noise from outside the cabin makes him jump, and even the heat from his mug of English Breakfast can’t chase away the intrusive thoughts of escaped criminals and drunk hecklers beating down his doorstep. Jack doesn’t deal with unwanted interruptions or company of any kind very well, and the thought of anyone creeping around his house with mal-intent occupies his brain to the point of exhaustion.

Once he gets a worry in his head he can’t let it go, and the inquisitive good mood he’s been nurturing for days on end is smothered by the prying hands of his anxious, overactive imagination. Frustrated with himself and his worrisome brain, he tosses his tools aside and watches them clatter uselessly across the tabletop.

The old clock on the wall is ticking loudly, marking every second he’s not accomplishing anything at all, and Jack gives in to the pressure of his own aching head. He clears the table of his old dishes and goes to bed.

Jack double locks every entrance he can ever remember using, and settles under the covers for what he prays won’t be a muggy, sleepless night.

-.-

Sleep comes easier than he expected, but anxiety is a cruel, clingy mistress.

Jack jolts awake to the clock face burning the early hour into his retinas and a creaking somewhere deep in his house. This time, there’s no mistaking the sound of someone shuffling through his hallways, and his mind fumbles through the haze of sleep straight into the ice cold clarity of fear and realization.

His eyes feel strained and his arms break out in shivers, his skin and heartbeat betraying him as every nerve in his body comes alive at the prospect of certain death on the horizon. His chest feels like a sinkhole collapsing in on itself as he struggles to breathe quietly over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and the faint rasps of footsteps on his hardwood floor.

His mind feels as though it’s been wrapped in cotton and plunged a million feet under a frozen lake, and his better judgment seems to have evaded him completely. Jack has no idea what to do, because he’s seen the horror movies—anyone stupid enough to investigate the strange noises in the middle of the woods either gets possessed or gets their head blown off.

Then again, Jack’s other options are to hide discreetly in his closet and hope his intruder isn’t all that intent on bloody murder, or lie in bed and pray that whoever’s wandered far enough away from society to break into secluded cabins is only interested in stealing TVs or something. None of the outcomes seem appealing, seeing as all of them probably involve him having to confront an attacker at some point or other.

He lays there, every ounce of his hearing prowess focusing in on identifying any sound that might be out of the ordinary, and counting down the seconds until an axe wielding maniac bypasses the triple deadbolt on his bedroom door.

It feels like several eternities packed into the most unnerving minutes of Jack’s life, waiting for the other shoe to drop or the chaos to begin, and then there’s a scratching sound at his lock.

He chokes on a lump of his own breath and sinks deeper into the mattress at the soft clicking sounds coming from the other side of his door. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he feels frozen in time, unsure of whether or not to stay and beg for his life, pretend to be asleep, or hide in his closet.

The seconds slip by, endless and fleeting all at once, and despite the heavy security he’s shut himself away with, he knows that anyone smart enough to get through the rest of the locks in his house will make quick work of his bedroom door. His fingers twitch sporadically, and Jack squeezes his eyes shut, pulling the covers tighter around his shoulders.

Hiding will do him no good, he decides, and the window in his bedroom is too small for him to try and squirm through. His intruder seems incredibly determined to home in on any signs of human life, seeing as how they’ve bypassed most of the other rooms and headed straight for Jack’s, so there’s nowhere he can go that he won’t be found.

He can’t hear any breathing from the other side of the walls, but the sound of a lock pick (or something of the sort) turning in the gears of his carefully secured set of locks assures him that he’s barely minutes away from probable death, and Jack takes a moment to consider his own pride.

He’s not above begging for his life, because he might not have lived much of one, but he doesn’t crave death and he’s never done a damn thing to anyone that might merit cold-blooded murder. There’s no cash or valuables that aren’t electronic in his home, and he’s got no skills in combat or rhetoric with which to fight for himself.

Jack is well and truly fucked, and not a soul will find him murdered in the safety of his own bed until his mother can be bothered to drive out to see him.

The door swings open at the same time Jack is hit with an overwhelming wave of crushing loneliness, bombarded with realizations about how he’s going to die alone and unknown, the most insignificant life ever ended prematurely, a wasted bullet in a gun. He fights back hot tears and clenches his teeth, hands slipping on the fabric of his blankets as sweat leaks from every pore in his body.

He’s going to die, and no one will be around to care.

There’s a presence in his doorway, only mere feet from his bedside, and in his periphery he sees something dark and metallic glint in the weak moonlight casting a glow over his huddled, blanketed form.

The figure isn’t tall, but he—Jack thinks his executioner must be male—is holding a gun out in front of him, the way they do in the movies, and for a split second the thought is almost comical to Jack.

His breath hitches against every ounce of will he’s been using to hold it in since waking up, and the figure in the doorway startles, the safety clicking off on his gun.

“Don’t move,” comes a low, smooth voice that Jack’s never heard in his life. “Sit up and look me in the eyes.”

Jack shakes so hard he feels as though his bones might rattle out of his skin and he’ll collapse in a sobbing puddle of nerves and terror right there in the midst of his sheets.

“P-please,” his teeth manage to chatter out, because if he’s going to die then he’s going to die having spoken to someone real at least. “I don’t k-know what’s g-going on. I haven’t h-hurt anybody, please just—.”

“Up!” the voice interjects, more sharply this time. Jack feels it like an actual bullet in his chest.

“O-ok!” he calls back, sitting up slowly so as not to alarm the other man. He has nothing to defend himself with, but for all his attacker knows, Jack sleeps as fully armed as his house is secured.

He fully expects something anti-climactic to happen, like the intruder nodding and then shooting him in the skull instead of bothering to exchange words at all, but the moment after he sits up, any thoughts of shooting or being shot evaporate instantly.

Their eyes lock, Jack’s line of sight blurred heavily by petrified tears and the overbearing darkness of his bedroom, but it’s enough. Jack can see the shadow of the other man’s face from a few feet away, the way the moonlight paints the shape of his jawline and brings out the bright whites of his eyes, offset by dark irises.

In that one, infinite second, Jack feels every tense cell in his body loosen and spill itself empty of any anxiety that’s ever made its home inside him. He feels undone, like he’s a web of knots gone slack or a waterfall breaking over the edge of a dam and tasting the pull of gravity for the first time.

Nothing hurts and nothing matters, and Jack is distantly aware of the loud clattering of a gun on the hardwood floor and the way his hands lose all grip on the sheets at the same time his mind lets go of anything resembling rational thought.

Something new and familiar all at once slides into place inside his head and there’s a presence there, as warm and reassuring as it is tumultuous, and Jack can’t feel his fingers.

The man in front of him looks like a deer in headlights, his hands are tensed in front of his body, palms out like Jack’s the one who’s got him at gunpoint now, and his eyes are wide and crystal clear to Jack across the suddenly vast expanse of bed between them.

Jack immediately wants him closer, not as a wish but as something he knows _has_ to happen, and it’s so incredibly opposite from everything he was feeling not thirty seconds ago that it should make his head hurt, but it doesn’t. His limbs feel light and there’s an air of contentment in his bones that wasn’t there when he’d been lying down just moments before.

He feels sure of himself for the first time in so long he’s not sure he can identify the sensation, but everything about the man who’s just forced his way into Jack’s house radiates safety and satisfaction, and not a single stretch of him cares to question it.

“Is it you?” he asks, and then his mouth snaps shut with an audible click. That is absolutely not anything close to what he intended to say, because Jack has never depended on anyone for anything and he certainly didn’t come out here just to wait on someone in particular.

He has no idea who this man is, not by name or by origin, but his mind is telling him otherwise and his body hates the space between them and that can only mean one thing.

Jack’s soulmate came here to kill him.


	2. hello stranger, we haven't had a past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't write self-help books for this kind of stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was way harder to write than it should have been. I have no idea why, or if I'm even happy with it, but here it is anyways. Once again, tell me if there's anything you're particularly interested in seeing in this universe. Feedback is very, very much appreciated.
> 
> Title from If I'm Lucky by State Champs

The gun is still on the floor.

Jack would love to say that’s the main reason why he’s suddenly feeling so at ease with the guy who just burst into his house brandishing a lethal weapon, but he can’t.

The dude is staring at him like he’s never seen another human before, and he can’t decide whether to run for the hills or move a little closer out of pure curiosity. Jack swallows heavily and tries to take stock of his emotions.

He’s feeling weirdly zen for having just come nose to nose with death not two minutes ago, but the whole probably-just-found-my-soulmate nuclear bomb that’s just been dropped hasn’t entirely neutralized the absolute swarm of questions buzzing through his head.

He’d always thought that meeting your soulmate meant instant clarity on one aspect of life at least, but the only thing he’s clear on at the moment is that he has no idea what the fuck is happening.

There’s a rising urge in the recesses of his mind that’s whispering something akin to _‘Get closer,’_ and he’s not really up to listening to the weird voice in the back of his head right now, because it’s been silent for awhile and this is the worst possible time for it to pop up and start giving unsolicited advice.

“Are you okay?” he blurts out, because the silence is probably going to get awkward very soon and he needs a distraction from the pressing desire to invite Mr. Unnamed Gunman into his bed.

The guy looks at him like he’s crazy, and Jack winces internally. He _was_ the one probably about to get shot after all—maybe he shouldn’t be asking his potential murderer turned possible soulmate how he’s doing.

“Right,” he backtracks. It looks like he’s going to have to hold up both sides of the conversation this time around. Possibly forever. “So, if you promise not to shoot me—maybe we can talk?”

Mr. Assassin lowers his hands a little bit and his shoulders relax, but his face is still sort of frozen in a strangely attractive mix of confusion and terror. Which again, kind of inappropriate considering he wasn’t the one about to die, but whatever.

Jack reaches over in the most un-alarming manner he can possibly muster, and turns on his bedside lamp because darkness is so not helping their case right now.

The guy blinks in the half light and Jack’s breath is immediately sucked from his lungs all over again. Incredibly gorgeous is pretty much an understatement and he has to struggle not to gawk a little.

He almost doesn’t notice the other man bending over to pick up his gun until he’s clicking the safety on and muttering to himself.

“Can’t believe that didn’t go off when I dropped it.”

Jack is honestly surprised he’s even still breathing at the moment, so small details like the gun hitting the floor are kind of a moot point to him currently.

“You’re not gonna shoot me now, are you?” he has to ask, because magical good vibes or no, he still has no idea who this man actually is.

Mr. Gorgeous and Deadly does an incredibly suave performance of tucking his gun into the back of his jeans while simultaneously making Jack feel like an idiot with only one raised eyebrow.

“I don’t think that would be beneficial for either of us,” he replies in a normal tone of voice for the first time since they’ve met. Jack thinks the sound alone could cure heartbreak in any red-blooded human being.

“Just checking,” he answers cautiously. “I mean, you seemed pretty dead-set on re-decorating with my skull a couple minutes ago so you can’t blame a guy for asking.”

Jack’s intruder snorts like he can’t be bothered to agree or disagree and then turns away, running a hand through his hair.

“So what do we do now?” Jack continues, because frankly he’s at a loss and also not the one with any semblance of people skills.

The guy shrugs and his arms drop to his sides heavily.

“I wish I fucking knew,” he says, blowing out a breath. “They don’t have like, ‘How-to’ guides for this kinda shit by now, or do they? Isn’t there etiquette about how to react to this sort of thing once it happens?”

Jack shakes his head.

“Well if there is, I wouldn’t know,” he says wryly, leaning forward and putting all his weight on his elbows. “I didn’t even think this would ever happen to me anyways, at least not anytime soon.”

“You and me both,” the man’s smile is dry and lightning fast, but Jack catches it anyways. “I won’t hurt you, don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, I know,” he says, then realizes how strange that must sound. “I’m not afraid of you.” The ‘not anymore’ is unspoken but clearly understood.

“You’re probably the first person to say that to me in awhile,” Mr. Mysterious admits, and it’s Jack’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“Do you do this sort of thing often?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to the space between them. He’s pretty sure the message gets across.

The man hesitates, then crosses his arms. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“I’m a hired killer,” he tells Jack, like it physically pains him to do so. “Someone called me up and offered me a fuckton of money to put a bullet in your head, except now that I can see you better…I think I might have the wrong guy.”

Jack’s eyebrows must be merging with his hairline right now. He needs a drink. No, many drinks. Many, many stiff drinks.

“What was your first clue?” he says incredulously. “What was I supposed to look like, I mean?”

The guy makes a face that Jack can’t yet decipher, and he squints a little. “Well, for starters, I’m looking for someone who’s about fifty years your senior, and incredibly eccentric. I have no idea why my client was so goddamn insistent on me offing an ancient Irish guy who owns thousands of acres of land, but I don’t really care either. It was supposed to be an easy kill, though I guess that’s the only thing the two of you have in common.”

Jack really, really wants to feel indignant about the insinuation that he’s an ‘easy kill’, but he can’t really. The tearstains on his pillowcase are factual evidence on the matter. Case closed.

“What would you have done if you’d shot me then realized you’d gotten the wrong guy?” Jack knows he probably shouldn’t be prying into this kind of stuff so soon, but he honestly doesn’t know where else to begin.

Another shrug. “I wouldn’t have. If you’d been just another random guy I’d have realized you weren’t who I was looking for and gotten the hell out of Dodge.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you right after you just tried to kill me,” he says, slightly winded by the severe case of whiplash he’s getting from tonight’s events. “This feels like a really bad movie.”

“I can’t believe I’ve been talking to you for this long and I don’t even know your name,” the other guy says, because if there’s one thing Jack’s learned about him in the five entire minutes they’ve known each other, it’s that this guy has a serious attitude.

He scratches his head, awkwardness creeping up his spine so suddenly it takes him by surprise. “Technically, my name is Sean McLoughlin—but most people just call me Jack, so yeah.”

Instead of offering his own name, the guy just looks even more confused. Jack’s genuinely worried his face is going to get stuck like that, which would be a shame. It’s a very pretty face.

“I’d ask how you got ‘Jack’ out of a name like ‘Sean’, but I get this feeling I’m not really gonna get a good answer, am I?” he asks slowly, cocking his head to the side like he’s trying to get Jack all figured out.

Jack shakes his head, “My mother started calling me Jack years ago and it stuck. That’s all I got. What about you?”

The intruder purses his lips, eyes darting across the room uneasily to the one window in Jack’s room, then back at Jack himself.

“I’m Mark,” he says finally, and Jack can only guess that his apprehension stems directly from having a job where trust isn’t a luxury he can often afford.

“Okay then,” Jack tugs the covers down a little and shifts on his mattress, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s been half-hiding in the blankets the entire time. “You don’t have to worry about me calling the police on you or anything—they’re too far away to do any good and there’s no one else out here to hear us.”

Mark glances around, this time a little more assessing, “I’m not used to hanging around before or after a job,” he says honestly. “Being stealthy is kind of part of the job description—I feel like I shouldn’t be here right now.”

Jack has no idea what to say. On one hand, he’s pretty sure that the universe wanted Mark to be here, the whole soulmate thing considered. On the other hand, they don’t know each other at all and there were guns and tears involved not five minutes ago.

“You’re not going to leave are you?” he asks, trying not to sound too alarmed. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants at this very moment other than to sleep for at least ten hours, but he does know without any hesitations that he can’t stand the idea of Mark leaving.

“I think the forces of the universe would be more than a little irritated if I tried to defy them,” Mark replies, and he musses his dark hair with both hands. “My hotel is over an hour away, anyways. I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I guess I’m staying.”

“Do you want anything?” Jack offers, wincing because his hospitality skills are probably more than a little rusty. “I know it’s late, but you look like you don’t sleep much.”

Mark looks slightly impressed, and Jack decides that means he hit the nail on the head. He slides out of the bed before he can chicken out of doing it, and takes extra caution not to do something stupid like trip on the sheets or stub his toe on the wooden floorboards.

Mark’s watching him cautiously now, but that little intuitive voice that didn’t exist before they locked eyes is telling him that it’s the kind of caution that immediately precedes someone letting their guard down.

His cabin doesn’t heat very well, so Jack’s cold again the moment he stands up, and he refuses to believe that the scattering of goosebumps littering his skin have any other origin at all. Mark, surprisingly, doesn’t back up when Jack brushes by him, his heartbeat picking up speed for the two seconds they’re in contact.

He leads Mark to the kitchen, marveling at how unrattled he is by a self proclaimed killer for hire following his exposed back into the kitchen at half past two in the morning. It must be the soulmate bond working its weird magic, because Jack can’t even buy groceries half the time without stuttering through the check out process—and there’s zero chance of him ever being murdered by a supermarket clerk.

“You want tea?” he questions, already pulling out the kettle. His hands move of their own accord, trying to keep himself busy so he won’t say or do anything stupid enough to fuck this up right from the beginning.

“Sure,” Mark grunts, and plops himself a little too gracefully on top of Jack’s rickety dining table. Jack half expects the old thing to collapse under the weight of Mark’s muscular build, but all it does is groan protestingly. “You wanna talk about this thing between us now or in the morning?”

Jack blinks and splashes water on the countertop. “Um.”

“I’m just saying,” Mark says matter-of-factly. “We’ve both agreed I’m not going anywhere and the longer we don’t talk the weirder this is gonna get. Besides, I’ve already pointed a gun at your face and made you cry, so I think we’re past all the boring small talk.”

Jack looks at him a little incredulously.

“You really don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he asks, turning the heat on and leaning up against the counter tiredly. Sleep seems very, very far off right now.

Mark clasps his hands and leans forward intently. There are no lines of uncertainty in his face or his shoulders and Jack feels a little like he’s already bitten off more than he can chew. This guy is clearly his total polar opposite.

“Why would I?” Mark answers, like any other option had never even occurred to him. “I’m here for a reason and we’ve got all of eternity to be idiots about other stuff. What’s the point in pretending we both don’t know why I’m still here?”

Jack is _definitely_ in over his head.

“Isn’t any of this freaking you out just a little?” he asks, praying his voice isn’t going shrill with the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “How could this night get any weirder for us?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “We could have sex.”

It takes every ounce of poise Jack has within his body not to choke on his own spit.

“Uh, I don’t think…” he begins, hands suddenly feeling clammy. Is that what people do right after they meet their soulmates? He honestly has no idea.

“Relax,” Mark is amused, Jack can tell. “I wouldn’t do that to you right away. I know I’m a lot to handle.”

His smile is genuine, even for how sly it is, but Jack still breathes a sigh of relief.

“I mean, it’s not that you aren’t good looking or anything,” he stutters, saving face, and the amused glow in Mark’s eyes gets a little brighter. “But I don’t put out on the first date, just so you know.”

Mark’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Are we on a date, then?”

Jack’s face breaks out in warmth and he buries it in his hands. He’s hopeless.

“Maybe you should have just shot me after all,” he says, muffled by his own shame and Mark honest to god chuckles.

“Never,” he replies, sounding incredibly proud of himself. “This night has already been a thousand times more interesting than any date I’ve ever been on.”

“I would take that as a compliment,” Jack says, still smarting internally from his own awkwardness. “Except my bruised pride is preventing me from appreciating the entertainment value of this conversation.”

When he looks up properly to see if Mark’s as weirded out as Jack thinks he is, he locks eyes with him again instead. It’s nothing like it was a few minutes ago, no earth-shattering epiphanies or the sensation of flying high in ways he couldn’t have imagined, but it’s not the same as when he’s stared at other people this steadfastly.

Looking at Mark feels like lighting a candle in a dark room or walking into a warm house after being in the cold for hours upon hours. Everything about him radiates warmth in the strangest way, and Jack can’t begin to explain why just locking eyes with someone is suddenly so compelling, but then again he’s in no position to question how the universe works the way it does.

It’s not awkward, not at all, and Jack feels like the earth has shifted, just a little. It’s like his eyesight has been adjusted just enough to remove the blurring from the edges of the world around him, and Mark is the focal point of everything in the room.

“You’re staring,” Mark says, and Jack really, really wants to smile—so he does.

“I like your face,” he says, then lowers his voice. “Do you think this whole soulmate thing is all that it’s cracked up to be? Like, even for people as different as us?”

Mark smoothes out a crease in his jeans and his expression is searching but careful.

“I think if I’d found myself with someone more like me I’d have less faith in this sort of thing working out,” he answers slowly, still looking at Jack like he’s the most interesting thing in the room. It’s hard not to blush.

“Is that supposed to be a profound thing?” Jack asks, laughing a little.

Mark shakes his head. “Hell no—life just sucks most of the time, Jack. Anything handed to you on a plate is usually too good to be true.”

The kettle goes off and Jack has to work himself up to turning away from Mark’s gaze. “Isn’t the whole idea of ‘soulmates’ basically handing a relationship to you on a plate? I know nothing’s perfect but I can barely hold on to friends and family. I don’t want to my only lasting relationship to be the one that the universe arranged for me.”

Mark’s quiet again while Jack pours the tea, and it’s a loaded silence, but not a tense one. It’s too late for frayed nerves and everything else is asleep, even if they aren’t. There’s no rush for the morning to come.

“I never knew what I’d do once I met…that person,” Mark continues after Jack’s brought him a steaming mug. “I wasn’t even sure if it would ever happen, and I didn’t ever think it’d happen like this. My job…it doesn’t accommodate other people very well. I travel from place to place and I kill people for money. It’s not glamorous or even exciting, it’s just dark.”

He shakes himself out a little and takes a sip from his tea, blowing the steam from the top. “I don’t really know—if you stay with me, things will be different for both of us.”

Jack is okay with things being different—he’s not sure if he’s ready to travel the world or whatever it is Mark does, and the thought of the man in front of him actually gunning someone down makes him more than a little nauseous, but the idea of change doesn’t scare him as much as it could.

He looks down into his mug, a tendril of shame creeping into his mind and he frowns.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks immediately, and Jack realizes that Mark must be able to sense his sudden discomfort.

“Nothing,” he says, shuffling his feet without meeting Mark’s eyes again. They’re closer in proximity now and the effort it takes to act like he doesn’t want to spend every second drinking in Mark’s profile is gargantuan. “It’s just…I don’t get out much. I don’t get visitors out here except when my mother can be bothered to come see me and my closest friend lives almost an hour away. I won’t be leaving a lot behind if I go with you, but I won’t be bringing a lot to the table either.”

Mark makes a strange noise that sounds like a cough and an incredulous half laugh. Jack can’t stop himself from looking back this time, and when he looks up Mark is in mid-eyeroll.

“If you think I’m going to be disappointed in you as a person because you’re not a trigger happy weapons enthusiast, then we’re not communicating as well as I thought we were,” Mark tells him, tone light but riddled with blatant honesty. “I’m not going to treat you like baggage just because you’re not into slitting guys’ throats for cold hard cash. That’s a lot to expect from anyone, much less someone who prefers to be alone most of the time.”

Jack rubs the back of his neck a little unhappily.

“I’m just saying, I’m not all that good with people and I’ve never even left the town I grew up in—I’m the least ideal companion for someone like you, I think.”

Mark sets his mug down and cocks his head. “Apparently the universe thinks differently,” he says, all nonchalance and warm gravel coloring his voice. “And to be honest, so do I. There’s no reason to think you’d weigh me down. We don’t have to be identical for this thing to work out between us.”

Jack smiles gratefully. He’s not entirely convinced, because they still don’t know each other that well and both of them seem to exist on opposite ends of every spectrum imaginable. Nonetheless, Mark seems strangely eager for a man who spends most of his time assassinating people, and the least Jack can do for now is try to be on his side. Relationships are a two way street after all, soulmate bond or no.

“Maybe you’re right,” he admits, taking a long sip of his tea as he’s reminded how little sleep he’s had in the past forty-eight hours. “I don’t mean to get off topic, but it’s late and I’ve haven’t been sleeping very well lately. You’re welcome to sleep wherever and we can talk again in the morning, if you want.”

Mark nods amicably, although Jack gets the idea that he’d gladly have continued talking for hours if Jack hadn’t insisted upon going to bed. He files that information away for a later date.

“I have to warn you now, I’m a light sleeper and I prefer working late and getting up early most of the time,” Mark tells him, sliding off the table and standing up to his full height—only an inch or so taller than Jack himself. “If I’m up and wandering around in a few hours, don’t be surprised okay?”

Jack nods back, because he’s not worried about Mark trying to make a break for it. These are special circumstances.

“D-do you want the couch?” he asks hesitantly, kicking himself for stuttering now of all times. His lack of knowledge on soulmate related etiquette is endlessly frustrating.

“I’ll sleep wherever you’ll have me,” Mark replies, and his face is serious but his eyes darken minutely. Jack swallows, hard.

“I, um—the couch is actually pretty shitty,” he admits, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. “I’m not sure you really deserve that, even after what happened earlier. It’s fine if you sleep with me, or y’know, n-next to me.”

The corner of Mark’s mouth turns up just slightly, like he only finds Jack’s lack of social skills endearing and kind of attractive, and wow, that expression will more than likely be Jack’s end.

“I’ll be good,” Mark promises, his eyes dark as sin. Jack is more than a little curious about what being ‘bad’ means by Mark’s definition of the word, but now is definitely not the time to explore that.

“O-okay,” Jack’s heart is beating so loudly he can feel it in his fingertips and the way Mark’s looking at him suggests that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

They’re both silent on their way to the bedroom and Jack turns the covers down on both sides of the bed for the first time since, well, ever.

Mark pulls his gun from the back of his jeans and checks to make sure the safety is still on. Jack tenses when he sees it, not because he’s worried Mark’s going to point it at him, but because he really doesn’t like guns. At all.

Mark notices, glancing from his weapon to Jack’s uncomfortable expression, and then very quietly takes the clip out and sets it aside with little fanfare.

Jack knows how much unloading his gun before going to sleep must have gone against every instinct Mark has, and he’s grateful that Mark doesn’t try and question it.

“Thank you,” he whispers, climbing between the sheets. “It’s just, guns make me—.”

Mark unbuckles his belt and kicks his jeans off, waving a hand dismissively in Jack’s direction.

“I wouldn’t sleep next to a killer with access to a loaded gun either,” he murmurs back, settling onto the mattress next to Jack, half a foot of space between them. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jack’s mind might be playing tricks on him, but Mark’s eyes and mouth droop just slightly when he speaks, and not from anything like exhaustion. On instinct, he reaches out.

“It’s not you,” he says. Mark’s hand is warm and electric beneath his. “I swear it’s not you.”

The moment their fingers meet, Mark’s eyes close and he deflates a little into the mattress. Everything feels lighter again.

“Go to sleep, Jack,” he whispers back, intertwining their hands just to touch. “I’ll be here in the morning and you can freak out then, I promise.”

Mark’s voice is like every sleeping drug he’s ever taken hitting him all at once, and the last thing he sees before he drifts off is Mark’s body outlined in the silver moon, watching over them both.

Nothing wakes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please tell me what you do and don't like about this. I really need to improve and expand if I want to write better stuff. Much love!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading and please, please let me know what you do and don't like about this series. I think I could do a lot with it but I really need feedback! And don't forget to let me know if you have ideas about things you want to see! I'm pretty good at making things work if I really want to. :)


End file.
